


The Better to See You With, My Dear

by Helholden



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Allison Lives, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gen, Past Abuse, Red Riding Hood Elements, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 06:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2099643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helholden/pseuds/Helholden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a story of Little Red Riding Hood. Only Red has a wolf of her own, and there is the matter of who is hunting who.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Better to See You With, My Dear

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** I have no idea where this came from. Feedback is always welcomed, though, and greatly appreciated! Obviously, it's a dark piece, so if that's not your jam, you know the drill.

* * *

 

The path through the forest is overhung with spindly branches, and she ducks as she pushes them out of the way so they don’t grasp onto her cloak. The footpath is guarded by bracken that claws at her knee-high socks. They were white; they are now dirty, but her cloak is blood red and it shines as bright as the glowing moon above her head.

 

She looks up. Lydia knows the way is dangerous this time of the month, with the moon almost full, but it’s something she must do and there is little time to do it.

 

The forest seems to close in on her, growing smaller but larger at the same time. The space is constricted, but the trees seem to go on forever ahead, and the leaves whisper secrets carried on the wind. A gust of sudden wind catches on her cloak, whipping her hood back from her head, strawberry blonde hair flying through a breeze and emitting her scent throughout the wild.

 

He knows her. He will come looking for her.

 

Lydia pulls her hood back onto her head and hurries along, the basket in her arm jangling its contents. She feels a change on the wind, slight and subtle.

 

She knows he is here.

 

She doesn’t consider running. She has run enough, and she is teaching herself not to be afraid anymore. Steeling herself against the inevitable onslaught, Lydia remains in place. Waiting. Waiting for him. Patience has become her virtue after so long of impatience being her sin. She has learned to calm her mind, to control her muscles, to use her wits more than ever, and she will not be a damsel in distress this time.

 

The bracken cracks nearby, and her heart does a little leap. It’s a natural reaction, but she reaches her hand into her basket and feels for the cold handle of the knife in between the cloth.

 

He comes to her slowly. He is still in his human form as he prowls around her, a keen glow to his unnatural blue eyes. His claws are out, but he is weaker like this and she knows it. He knows it, so why does he do it? Does he think he can win her this way? She recalls his fingers in her brain, his presence under her skin, the many sleepless nights with him in her head, controlling her, getting her to do his will and then wiping half of her memory clean.

 

She remembers sometimes the things he tried to make her forget. She remembers the terror of his shadow, the gleam in his eyes as he backed her into a corner. She remembers his presence stalking her in an ethereal plane somewhere between the dream world and the real world. There is real fear in those memories, fear she fights everyday, and he thinks he did her a favor.

 

He contaminated her mind, kissed her forehead, and acted as if his lips touching hers next was something that she wanted when she was too scared to move.

 

Peter has always wanted her as a prize. He has always wanted her on his side.

 

He comes to her now as a human in hopes of claiming her once and for all.

 

“My,” he says, and his teeth are razor sharp, “what big eyes you have, Lydia.”

 

She recalls the old fairytale with a twitch of her lips and plays his game. “All the better to see you with,” she responds with an acrid sweetness. Lydia raises her chin. “The _real_ you,” she adds.

 

“Am I so bad?” Peter asks, rhetorically. “I’ve awakened your powers. Given you a purpose. A means to help your friends, isn’t it? Your loved ones? Without me, you wouldn’t have any of that. This _power_ you embrace . . . ” Peter points a sharp claw at his own chest slowly. “I gave it to you.”

 

“I had it before you came along,” Lydia says firmly, “and I was just fine. I didn’t _need_ changing.”

 

“But now you have it at its full potential,” Peter says, and he pauses. “Your full potential.” He holds out his arms, raises his eyebrows. “What will you do with it?”

 

Lydia takes a deep breath. She hears the whisper on the wind, hears the leaves rustle as they take those secrets and bring them to her. She hears the oncoming surge as her powers threaten to overwhelm her. _Someone is going to die_ , her nerves scream, and her brain caves in as she buckles at the knees and lets out a wailing scream into the night.

 

When all is silent afterwards, her mouth slowly falling to an almost close as the world comes back into focus.

 

“I’m not going to kill you,” Peter says to her, slowly making his way towards Lydia.

 

“No, but we will,” Stiles’s voice says somewhere behind him. Peter whirls to face the sound, and a creature jumps onto his back with bright red eyes and serrated teeth, and Lydia recognizes Scott almost as an afterthought.

 

Scott will not kill him and risk his powers, but Stiles has an electrical stun baton and he uses it on Peter’s side as Scott is latched onto the Peter’s back. Peter falls forward, and Lydia draws the knife out from her basket. She charges forward, jamming it into the side of Peter’s throat. Warm blood gushes out over her hand, and Peter opens his mouth as more pours out over his lips.

 

He stares up at her in disbelief.

 

“It was too easy,” she whispers, almost sadly and to herself, as she touches her fingertips to his chin while he bleeds from his mouth, gaping up at her.

 

Lydia doesn’t think the story should end this way, but whatever gives her peace at night will have to do.

 

_Only, will it?_

 

“We have you now, Peter,” Scott says in the surge of his triumph, his arm tight around Peter’s head. All honorable, of course, as hero-worthy as he is.

 

“Yeah, _bitch_ ,” Stiles adds somewhere behind them, not quite as elegant.

 

She twists the knife to open his wound wider to prevent it from healing too fast before yanking it out, blood spurting from the gash. Lydia drops the knife. It’s no longer needed. When she reaches into her cloak, she pulls out a sword. She holds it up. It gleams in the moonlight, silver catching silver and arcing over the center of the blade.

 

“Lydia,” Peter sputters, trying to speak. “Please . . . we could . . . be . . . king . . . and queen . . . alpha . . . and . . . ”

 

“Mhmm,” Lydia says, admiring the blade as she turns it in her hands. “I think I’m done with being your bitch.”

 

She looks Peter in the eyes when she rams the sword straight down into his gut. After she pulls it out, Scott moves to the left and Lydia swings from the right. _The only way to kill a werewolf is to cut them in half_ , but Lydia isn’t strong enough to cut through sinew and bone, and it is messy. Stiles has to help her while Peter is still alive, and Scott yells at them to hurry up. Even Stiles is not graceful, though. He slips on the blood-drenched leaves and lands sideways in the black soil.

 

By the time she cuts through the last string of flesh, Peter is long dead. His head hangs back, those once bright eyes now dull and void. Lydia stumbles, losing her balance and her grip on the sword. She falls into blood, soil, intestines, and other unspeakable things that get all over her legs, her dress, and her hands. The earth is black with his blood, and Stiles reaches out to help her to her feet again.

 

Lydia wipes her hands on her cloak and looks down at the mess they have made. She’s wanted this, she thinks, wanted it so bad for so long. But now her ears are ringing and there is an empty hole inside her heart, a void like the one in Peter’s vacant eyes, and she is horrified at what she’s done.

 

The voice and fingers that once caressed the back of her brain are suddenly gone like a cut wire, releasing all of the weight.

 

That’s how she knows he is dead at last.

 

She is, finally, alone.

 

Alone, all alone in her head.

 

Lydia doesn’t want to miss it, but she feels a pain at the sudden loss. It could be unnatural, or it could be perfectly natural shock. The thought makes her want to cry. Her lips tremble, and her eyes burn as they water.

 

“Lyds . . . ” Stiles says, and she hears his voice, but it’s faraway as if her head is underwater. He reaches out for her hand, taking it gently into his.

 

Lydia grips back hard, the feeling of his hand pulling her back from the depths of her darkness. A darkness put there by Peter, a darkness that may never fully go away.

 

“Guys,” Scott says. There is a beat of silence. “Maybe we should bury the body.”

 

“Why?” Lydia asks as she looks down at Peter’s corpse. “No one’s going to miss him, even if they find him.”

 

It’s not entirely true, but she’ll make it true. She’ll make it true for now. Until one day down the line on a perfectly fine and beautiful morning with coffee in the air and a kiss in her cheek, she’ll feel a chill in her bones and a hole inside of her and she’ll think she’s missing something very important in her soul that no amount of life moving forward, love, or happiness will ever fill.

 

Scott will feel guilty. Stiles will feel vindicated, and she’ll just have to hope for the best and pray she makes it another day without falling.

 

Lydia takes a deep breath and tightens her grip on Stiles’s hand. “Let’s go,” she says, and her breath ices on the cold air. It’s colder than it was before, or maybe it’s just her.

 

Stiles and Scott say nothing, though, and they leave the forest together.

 

Scott leads the way under the moon, and Allison’s house is not far ahead.

 

 


End file.
